All I Have Left
by The-Time-Travelling-Hippie
Summary: Monica meant everything to Chandler, but when she dies, how does he take it? As his life slowly spirals out of control, so does his sanity. Mondler.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N): So I've had this idea for ages now, really want to see how it goes. It is based on the episode 'The One Where Chandler Can't Cry' when Monica goes on about how if she died, Chandler wouldn't shed a tear, and then called him a 'robot'. Well I was thinking, what if that actually happened? How would Chandler be affected by it? I am not stealing anyone's ideas, this fic is mainly based on Chandler. **

…

It had been a month since Monica died. The doctor said that if they'd found out sooner, they would have had a better chance at saving her life. 'At least she died peacefully.' they would say. He hated it when they said that. His wife was dead, gone, but he chose not to accept it. Why him? God could have chosen anyone else, but it had to be him. The once sarcastic, but loveable, Chandler was now bitter and filled with hatred. The rest kept their distance from him in case he lashed out at them like the many times he had before. He had given Joey a black eye, Ross a broken nose and the rest an emotional scar about how their friend had changed. He spent most of his time on the balcony, looking up at the stars that reminded him of his lovers eyes. He didn't go to work, he smoked, gambled, drank, until the early hours of the morning.

Phoebe was the most concerned. She'd seen her mother acting like this until she killed herself. The windows to his soul were bleak, dull, lifeless. She wondered if Chandler would do the same thing her mother did. What the most disturbing thing was though, was that Chandler never cried at the funeral. He stood next to her grave, a slight wisp of a sad smile touching the corners of his mouth.

"You were right, Mon. You were right."

That day Ross had tried to comfort his brother-in-law, to which he fled the scene. It was then something inside of Chandler snapped, something nightmarish was released. He completely trashed the apartment, every memory that had once been was gone, destroyed. They told him he need 'help'. Whatever that meant. He just wished he could go back in time and save her. But he was stuck here, all by himself while he soul mate was sitting on a perfectly symmetrical cloud.

He came back from the liquor store to find Ross, Joey, Rachel and Phoebe waiting for him. It was an intervention, a stupid trick to get him to forget his wife. He saw Monica sitting with them, beckoning him over.

"Mon?" he called, eyeing the couch on which she sat on.

The other four sighed sadly and watched him as he ran to the invisible image he was seeing. For the first time in weeks he actually looked like Chandler again.

"Chan, there's no one there..." Ross began, patting his friend on the shoulder gently.

"She's right there!" he belted, gesturing to nothing.

"Chandler." Rachel tried, facing the widower, shaking his shoulders to bring him back into reality "Monica is dead."

It was like a ton of bricks had hit him all at once. His knees buckled underneath him and he collapsed onto the couch, a trail of icy tears staining his cheeks.

"No, she's right there! Why can't you see her?" he choked in between sobs.

Monica sat there, emotionless. Her raven black hair covering her pale face. She winked mischievously, putting her finger to her lips and smiled. She got up, walking away while she sang:

"Some day, when I'm awfully low,  
When the world is cold,  
I will feel a glow just thinking of you  
And the way you look tonight."

Then she was gone.

…

**(A/N): So, thanks for reading, next chapter will hopefully be up soon. Leave a review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N): I hope everyone enjoyed the last chapter! I've updated quite quickly, because I just can't stop writing! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Friends. If I did, there would be more episodes and I would be chilling on my yacht with Matthew Perry and the rest of them.**

…

Chandler had hid himself away in his room. How dare they not believe she was there, she was sitting with them and they still questioned him. They were ignorant, how could they forget her so easily? She was Monica. The woman who kept everything in order. The one who saved everyone from chaos. The one who you could always rely on. He paced, up and down all night, trying to ware himself out so he could get some sleep. But his mind wouldn't let him, it was alert, the cogs in his brain churned even when there was nothing to think about.

"Chandler?"

He span on his heels. There was his darling wife, sat on the bed, patting the empty space next to her. He skipped over, a weary grin plastered on his tired face. He put his arm around her, she snuggled into his neck. He heard her whisper something, but it was slightly muffled, unclear.

"They don't believe, Chandler."

Her eyes lay into his longingly as she rubbed his hands in a soothing motion.

"You have to make them believe in me." she uttered, turning her head away.

He went to hug her but she moved away from him awkwardly, getting up from the bed.

"I'm trying..." he replied, running his hands through his chocolate, spiky hair "They won't listen to me."

She sighed inwardly, brushing the charcoal bits of hair from her face. He raised his heavy body from where he sat, slowly making his way over to her. He tilted his head playfully, stroking her arm, placing his lips on hers. They stood there, passionately embracing, the world around them pausing.

"I love you, Monica." he said, pulling in for another kiss.

"Chandler? What are you doing?"

His head shot up, a Dear in the headlights expression. Joey stood in the doorway, worrying concern written all over his face.

"Joe, can't you see we're busy? Give us some privacy, man."

The Italian crept hastily out of the room, leaving the door open, the blaring light blinding Chandler. A tall shadow stretched across the floor, a second later, Ross appeared, Joey in tow.

"Ross, can you please tell Joey to stop interrupting when me and Monica are having some alone time?"

All went silent. The atmosphere darkened, the palaeontologist winced at the use of his sisters name.

"Tell them to go away." Monica commanded, Chandler's arms still wrapped around her.

"G-Go away," he shook, Ross and Joey closing in on him "Leave us alone!"

But still they came closer, each step pounding in his ears. Monica tugged at his sleeve, pointing to the door with a whimper. An exit. He'd never been so thankful to see one.

"Don't touch her!" he shrieked, shoving his two friends out of the way, dragging Monica along with him.

As he ran into the lounge, Phoebe and Rachel burst out of the other room, horrified, petrified, they couldn't take hold of what was going on until it was to late. Chandler had flung open the main door, sprinting down the staircase as Joey and Ross followed in hot pursuit. They could hear his desperate, terrified cries as he fled.

"Come on, Monica!"

The cold night air hung tightly around him. It invaded his lungs, the crisp, cooling sensation a perfect feeling. As the moon shone brightly in the indigo sky, the crows flew swiftly about the branches, squawking devilishly at civilians. Chandler crept cautiously through Central Park, keeping a look out for people trying to separate him from his love. He and Monica stood idly on the grass, staring deep into each others eyes. Chandler's pupils were dilated, deadly small, the iris' around it glowing unnaturally with pleasure. Monica's didn't have the same amount of passion Chandler's had, dark and dangerous, unfitting for the moment.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he cooed, stroking her soft, but icy, cheek.

"Chandler, they're trying to keep us apart. They don't want us to be together."

"We'll always be together, Mon, always." he whispered gently into her ear.

"What a freak!"

Chandler turned towards the voice. Two young boys were walking past, giggling at him, their grins sickening.

"He's not a freak, he's just plain retarded!"

Other people couldn't help but stare at the man talking to himself in the park, hugging the air, kissing it. It was saddening but yet intriguing to watch, and as more people passed, more people began to look. Some even pulling their phones out and recording the sight, laughing cruelly to themselves at this poor man, conversing with absolutely nothing but thin air.

Rachel was worried sick about her friend. The expression he wore when he rushed out of the apartment was truly frightening. It was like he actually thought Monica was there, he could hear her, see her, touch her. She and Phoebe sat nervously in the lounge, waiting for the moment Ross would call and tell her everything was fine. But it wasn't. It was far from fine. Chandler hadn't been right since they proclaimed Monica officially dead. He was just so much more on edge, jumpy. He nearly leaped off of the balcony, Joey saved him though, tackled him to the floor. He just kept crying, the tears kept on coming and coming. He would just mumble nonsense phrases to himself, burst into random fits of rage, destroy everything around him. He was beginning to crack, lose it. He couldn't survive on his own without Monica, it wasn't possible for him to even function normally in society without her. So when Rachel saw him talk to what he thought was Monica, it broke her heart. He honestly believed that she was still alive, still well, and that she wasn't lying in the hospital morgue like every other corpse.

The phone ringing released her from her thoughts. She picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Rach, it's Joey."

"Oh thank God, is Chandler okay?"

"Well...not exactly..."

"What do you mean?"

"You might want to get down here..."

…

**(A/N): Another chapter down, hope it was okay. I'm really enjoying writing this! Please leave a review, just some constructive criticism, it really helps! Until next time... **


	3. Chapter 3

**(A/N): I just want to say a thank you to everyone who liked the story, reviewed it or even followed it! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Friends. Wish I did though.**

…

Phoebe and Rachel made a B-line for the park, running as fast as their legs could take them. The tone in which Joey had used when he spoke to them, told them that this couldn't possibly be good. They couldn't remember what first went through their minds when they had gotten the call. Panic? Fear? Relief? At least they'd found Chandler, and that he wasn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere. Even if he was in a bad way, he was still alive, and that was all that mattered. It just didn't make any sense. He was the normal one, _not_ the crazy one. Sure, he could be a little eccentric sometimes, but it just wasn't him. They never thought that this would happen to Monica or Chandler. They were the perfect match. His wittiness mixed with her competitiveness, just seemed to balance wonderfully. It was the beginning of their lives together, and all of that was thrown away.

They finally arrived at the park, seeing Joey wave frantically to them, like some sort of signal. The sight they saw chilled them to their bones. Chandler, shaking, foetal position in Ross' arms, weeping uncontrollably, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Stop it! Stop saying that!"

Ross soothingly rubbed circles on his back, shushing him like he was a child. Joey shooed horrified citizens away, embarrassing expression evident. Phoebe ran over to them, concern blossoming in her features, she started trying to comfort Chandler herself.

"Get up, dummy! People are laughing at you!" Monica hissed, no one else heard her but the crying male.

"Chandler, what's wrong?" Phoebe tried, obviously knowing the answer.

"Monica. S-She won't l-leave me alone."

This was a problem.

"What?"

"She keeps saying all these things. She won't stop it!" he choked, his tears resembling to those of a five year olds.

Ross gave a frightened, pitied glance to the blonde woman holding Chandler. He nodded solemnly, lifting himself from the grass. Walking over to Rachel and Joey, he ran his bony hands through his gelled-back hair, sighing with perplexity.

"And, where is Monica?" Phoebe asked, playing along.

Her friend pointed with a shaky finger to a nearby tree, it was impossible to tell where he was pointing though, his view seemed undecided, unfocused, unsure. His eyes were glazed over, a layer of fantasy covering them. His pupils were the smallest she'd ever seen, a swirling, black pool of emotion and confusion. Huge, deep mulberry bags hung loosely, sleep deprivation written all over them. He looked a complete and utter mess. He hadn't shaved, he hadn't eaten, he hadn't even changed his clothes in four days.

"Come on, Chandler. Let's go." she whispered gently, hoisting the sniffling man from the ground.

He flinched even as they were walking away, as if Monica was shouting at him from behind. His nerves were frazzled. In a quick daze, he was placed into a cab, driven home and put to bed, his attitude to sleep easy and respectful.His dreams explained the main events that happened recently.

_Monica lay on the hospital bed, the rise and fall of her chest occupying the thoughts of her husband. He hadn't talked much since she was diagnosed with cancer. It was like the whole incident had made him mute. _

"_Any day now..." the doctor warned him. _

_He hated everything about this. He hated the waiting. He hated the fact that he wouldn't be able to see his wife again. This whole thing terrified him. This disease was eating away at her, it was __destroying her body. She looked like death itself. So cold and weak, the cover girl of illness. Her once blue eyes, blue like the sky in summer, were as grey as the clouds just after a heavy rain. _

"_Chandler. I'm tired." she wheezed, eyelids drooping wearily. _

"_No, honey. You can't go to sleep, not yet..." he replied, paranoid that if she slept, she wouldn't wake up again. _

_He turned to face the heart monitor, its slow, rhythmic beep lulling him into a state of subconscious calm, almost hypnotic. He'd stayed like that until he reminded himself of his wife's condition. He swivelled back round to face her; asleep. Her quiet snoring spread a smile on his sad face, she did deserve some rest. So did he. He drove back home, his bed calling out to him. It was his mistress, his only weakness. He loved sleep because it was a chance to get away from all the stress of life for a few hours. _

_He awoke the next morning, filled with worry. He had left his love at the hospital all alone, he had to visit her immediately. He jumped into a cab and made his way there, anxiety kicking in. The strong smell of antiseptic wafted in his nose, as he made his way through endless, white corridors. His wife's room was empty. She was gone, the bed no longer covered by a limp, nearly lifeless woman. A nurse rushed by, but he locked his hand on her arm like a vice. _

"_Where's my wife?" _

"_Oh, didn't you get the call, Mr Bing? Monica, passed away in the early morning. I'm so sorry for your loss." her voice dripped with empathy. _

"_W-What? How could t-this of happened?" he stuttered, but the nurse was gone. _

_He slumped down onto the shiny, marble floor, tears spilling over his eyes like miniature waterfalls. His soul mate was dead. Dead. The word killed him on the inside. _

_She was dead?_

_Monica was dead._

…

**(A/N): A bit depressing there. I really look forward to writing these chapters! Thanks so much for reading them! Please leave a review, tell me how I could improve, or whatever you want! **

**Until next time... :^)**


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N): I'm only writing this because I love the story line. I love how Chandler depends on Monica. So to the people actually reading this...enjoy. Warning: this chapter will be depressing. **

**Disclaimer: Do you really think I own anything? **

…

As Chandler escaped into slumber, his friends sat in deafening silence. Their minds wandered, flowing thoughtfully into oblivion, into hell. It burnt and twisted around their confused heads, fading slowly as they glanced at each others hurt expressions. Ross' heavy, sighs brought everyone back to their senses.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, dragging his hands down his weary face.

Joey twiddled his long, bony fingers as his eyes darted to the room Chandler was occupying.

"I don't know. I just want my friend back..."

"We all do." Rachel stated, lowering her head to the floor, small, silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

**...(Chandler's dream)...**

_It was snowing. He ambled through the oncoming flakes that drifted down from the grey sky. His feet crunched against the white carpet that grew beneath him, dampening his happiness. Chandler wiped his eyes that had been bombarded with slush, ivory droplets hammering down on them. He didn't know where he was. Everything around him had been vanquished by snow. It was horrifyingly beautiful, amazing but somehow grotesque. Somewhere in the distance, a lone, shapely figure stood towards him, outlined by blizzard. Chandler felt drawn, his legs moving by themselves at an alarming rate. He ran as fast as he could but the person kept moving away. _

"_Hey! Come back!" he shouted, his voice echoing around him eerily. The person stopped, turning to him, coming closer and closer until they were face to face._

"_Monica," he breathed "I knew it was you." _

_Her movements seemed robotic, unlike her own. Her face was covered by this estranged mask that he didn't really recognize. Her jet black hair shadowed her face, her frosty skin growing whiter. _

"_Why didn't you save me?" she questioned, eyes burning with a thousand embers of fury. _

"_I-I tried, I'm so sorry-" _

"_You're a hopeless case. You can't do anything right!" she boomed, pushing her husband backwards. _

_He tumbled into the snow, the cold, bitter feeling settling against his skin. She turned away from him, stopping suddenly._

"_You were the one who deserved to die."_

_Chandler froze. He felt his face drop as Monica began to walk away. _

"_I love you," he shrieked, trying to lift himself from the ground. _

_He slipped, falling back down to earth again, his wife carried on. She wore a heartless expression on her aged face. _

"_I never loved you, Chandler." _

_The words rung in his ears._

"_Never loved you."_

_Never._

A blood-curdling scream cut sloppily through the atmosphere in the front room like a blunt knife. They all scrambled up from their seats, looking for the source of the noise. Joey sprinted into Chandler's room, busting open the door. He lay there on the bed, twisted in the sheets like he was trying to escape from something. He was soaked in sweat, drenched in a cold layer of terror. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. He looked like he had journeyed through hell and back, exhausted, haunted by things that weren't even there. That only existed in his mind.

"Chandler, it's okay, it's okay, it was just a nightmare." Joey comforted, pulling his friend into a hug.

"No, no. Never." he choked.

Joey gave the rest of his companions a puzzled glance. Chandler turned towards them, eyes glistening with fresh, painful tears of resentment.

"She never loved me."

…

**(A/N): Told you it would be depressing. Whoever is reading this, please leave a review, it's the only thing that keeps me writing, and I really love writing this story. It's so simple, and it'll make me so happy. Sorry if it was short. Thanks anyway.**


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N): Sorry I haven't updated in ages. WARNING: This chapter will have some language in.**  
**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

"What? Of course she loved you, Chan."  
They were all gathered around their crying friend, his cheeks stained with fresh tears that wouldn't stop falling. Their sympathetic voices didn't reach him though, he watched, horrified, as Monica appeared in the doorway.  
She looked pissed.  
He gulped and pulled the drenched sheets up to his chin as he cowered in fear. Shakes rattled through him when she took steps closer and closer towards the bed. How was it that no one else seemed to notice her? He tried to warn the others but his throat was as dry as the desert, only erratic croaks of desperation and anxiety were released into the air. The others shushed him like he was a child. Their tendencies dripped with melancholy concern.  
"You're a bitch Chandler," his wife hissed. Her eyes blazed with fury, but were as black as the night.  
"I'm not a bitch, stop saying that." he whispered, his wobbly voice startled his friends. "Please."  
"Chandler, who are you talk-"  
"Go away, Monica."  
This time everyone looked at Phoebe. She stroked Chandler's thinning, chocolate hair and his ivory cheek gently and looked him in the eyes.  
"Don't listen to her, she's wrong." she assured. Chandler's face brightened for a second before melting back into a river of sorrow. She signaled for the others to follow her out of the bedroom and quietly silenced the weeping by closing the bashed-in door, courtesy of Joey.  
"He's delusional, I think this whole thing's just broke him..."

* * *

"That whore! Why was she touching you like that?!"  
Chandler tucked his knees up to his chest, his wide, frightened eyes staring up at the raving woman that shrieked at him. His mind screamed for him to call out to his friends but his mouth kept sealed shut. He wanted to get away. He needed to get away, as fast as he could. But he was trapped. Trapped by his wife and the others outside the door. Escape was a mere grain of microscopic sand scattered among the thousands of failures and broken dreams on the metaphorical beach of depression. He stole a look at the clock by his bed; 3:00 am. The numbers glowed eerily like his wife's eyes.  
"She's...she's my f-friend." he answered weakly, voice still croaky and quiet.  
The woman scoffed and snorted. Her expression terrified him. It was the look of the devil, but it was the love of his life.  
"You don't have any friends," Monica spat "You only have enemies, people that don't even want to be near you! You're a pathetic waste of space and time, you can't even save your own wife!"  
That sentence rammed itself into his tired brain. He felt his lip quiver and salty tears rain onto the sheets he clutched. Loud sobs, laced with hysteria, polluted the atmosphere as he buried his head into his pillow. Maybe if he suffocated, she would leave him alone. Though he mentally kicked himself when he came up gasping for precious air. She threw her head back and released a bone-shattering howl. Chandler dived from the bed in a moment of panic and grabbed a vase that perched on the bedside table. Readying himself, he gripped the pottery like a bat and posed for attack.  
"I d-don't wanna hurt you, Mon, I really don't." he stated as he tightened his hold on the object.  
This made his wife erupt with maniacal laughter. His lip started quivering again, but he fought back the tears. He wasn't going to be treated like this, not by his lover anyway. She ambled towards him and smiled evilly, her teeth were a sharp as knives.  
"I **want** to hurt you, Chandler. I **want** to kill you sometimes, but I won't..."  
She tugged at the collar of his shirt and pulled it closer so that they were centimeters away from each others faces. Her breath felt cold against his skin. He gulped, his now numb arm unable to help protect him against her. He bit his lip so hard that blood started oozing from it. The metallic taste made him shudder.  
"I **want** to see you suffer." she whispered, dangerously close to his ear.  
The vase shattered when it hit the floor. He couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't think. And just when he thought he'd lost his senses, he bawled for help, for a God that may or may not have existed. His friends ran in and saw him pressed against the wall, tears streaming down his face and his skin a shade of white that was beyond unhealthy. Bits of smashed, broken pottery lay at his feet. He was shaking like a leaf. His heart wasn't hammering, it was vibrating.

* * *

**(A/N): Please review, it would really help me. Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

**(A/N): I'm so incredibly sorry I haven't updated in such a long while, what has it been? A year? Jeez, you guys must hate me. Reason is I've really gotten into the A-Team lately, so if you like that show, check out some of my stories and leave a review. Anywho, I'm babbling. On with the story.**

**Disclaimer****: Sadly, I own nothing you recognize. **

* * *

It was the strangest sensation.

It felt like something softly tearing inside his head and then everything became much more daunting, scarier than normal. When the doctor announced that Monica had cancer he couldn't actually believe it. He couldn't believe anything anymore. He was even beginning to doubt his sanity at first. Now to him there was no such word as _'sanity'_.

Ross was a wreck, but not as much as Chandler himself though. The paleontologist hadn't spoken about dinosaurs in weeks. It was quite unnerving. And Joey rarely ever raided their fridge anymore. Rachel hadn't been seen with a shopping bag since the big 'C Bomb' was dropped on her best friend. Phoebe didn't really play her guitar much either.

How could _**one**_ horrible disease ruin the lives of **_six _**people?

So now his friends were afraid of him. More than afraid, really. Cautious, terrified, pitiful were probably more accurate feelings. He wasn't Chandler anymore; he was someone they weren't comfortable being around, someone who they'd try and usually avoid. But this was their friend. And because he was their friend they had a responsibility to care for him and pull him out of this dark patch he'd sunken into. But it was _not _going to be easy.

But the question was, would Chandler ever be _Chandler _again?

And they all knew the answer.

No, he wouldn't.

* * *

When they found him, shaking, crying, they didn't know what to do. Would it be wise to go to a professional? It was something that had crossed their minds quite a lot recently. Would Chandler be willing to receive help? They expected him to hate the idea of going to a shrink, any of them would.

Phoebe began to gently guide him back to the bed, which was now damp with perspiration. As he lay down he began to whimper, "Please don't leave me alone with her. She's t-trying to kill me."

They all glanced at each other and with a single nod from Joey, Rachel knew what had to be done.

"Honey, we think you need help." She said, stroking his trembling arm gently, "You're sick."

"Sick? I'm not sick-"

"You are, Chan, and we think it'd be best if you saw someone."

"What are you talking about!?" He asked, his voice raising slightly as he clutched the sheets with an iron grip.

"A psychiatrist," Ross said sourly.

Chandler scrutinized his friends with angry, bitter filled eyes. Did they think he was_ insane_? Were they going to ship him off to a nut house? Were they abandoning him?

"I'm not crazy," He told them, now sitting up and hunched over, "I don't need to see a quack."

"We're not saying you're crazy, Chandler, we just think that you need some help, that's all." Phoebe tried comfortingly, but the man in the bed only rejected her kindness.

"Oh and what _is_ 'help', huh? You're just gonna dope me up and lock me in a booby hatch, is that it? Is that what 'help' is?" He shot angrily. Each of them looked stunned. They hadn't expected their friend to react _this _badly to the idea. The sorrow and desperation they had just seen had been quickly replaced with rage and hatred.

"Look, buddy, we're only tryin' to solve this problem." Joey whispered loudly.

"W-W-What problem? I-I don't have a problem-" He stuttered.

"Yes you do, Chandler. You do." Countered Ross, coming closer to the bed.

The chocolate-haired man pushed him away angrily. "I don't need your help! Get away from me, don't touch me! I hate you, I HATE YOU!" He screamed.

The friends stared at Chandler in shocked silence. Rachel started to tear up and quickly left the room, Phoebe followed her; then Joey. Ross eyed his best friend with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What happened to you, man?" He asked. And without another word he walked out the door.


End file.
